The sky above the northern encampment still smoldered with the aftershocks of the closed rift, but peace was a fragile thread barely holding.
The air had turned thin and sharp—expectant—as if fate itself were holding its breath.
Inside the command tent, Arasha stood reviewing reports, still pale from the previous battle, her armor exchanged only for a slightly less burdening command coat.
Kane remained near, always in her periphery.
His presence steady.
Watchful.
The silence between them since the rift closure had been companionable—until the tent flap was violently thrown open.
A messenger, blood and soot streaking his cloak, fell to one knee, gasping, "Commander! Commander Arasha—! The capital—!"
Her eyes snapped to him. "Speak."
"A rift," he choked. "In the central square—inside the inner ring. It opened only minutes ago—monsters already flooding the noble quarter. The Guard is being overrun. The king has issued a call for immediate aid."
The command tent went still.
Arasha turned sharply to Kane, already feeling the stir of a divine charge in her limbs. "We leave now. Leta, prepare a strike team—"
"No."
The word was soft but firm, like a door sliding shut.
Arasha froze.
Kane stepped forward, the expression on his face unreadable but resolute. "You're not coming."
A pause.
"I am," Arasha said, voice low with warning. "The capital needs us—"
"They need me," Kane interrupted gently, but firmly. "I've awakened, Arasha. I can see the rift's patterns now—how to seal them, how they bend and twist the world."
She narrowed her eyes, her voice trembling beneath the strain. "That doesn't mean you go alone."
Kane stepped closer, grabbing her wrist and leaning close to bridge the space between their hearts.
"Your knights are exhausted. Wounded. Still recovering from the north," he said, his voice quieter now. "They need their Commander here. They need you. To rally. To protect. To prepare."
Arasha clenched her jaw. "And what if something happens to you?"
His eyes softened. "I have my private squad and the adventure guild to back me up. I have others I trust. I'm not alone."
"But you're not invincible," she bit out, frustration and fear warring in her chest.
"I know that," he stated with an amused smile. "And, so are you. But I am the best chance we have right now. And we don't have the luxury of doubting that."
Silence fell between them again.
Kane looked down, then up again. "You've always believed in me, Arasha. Now I'm asking you to do it again, believe me."
Arasha's gaze dropped to the hilt of her sword at her hip, fingers curling into a fist before she forced them to relax.
Her pride warred with reason, her instincts screamed to follow—but Kane's words echoed in her: I'm not alone.
Her shoulders sagged, her voice quiet. "Don't be reckless."
Kane's mouth twitched into the faintest smile. "I'll try. But you know me."
"…Unfortunately, I do."
They shared a brief breath, a silent understanding drawn from fire and grief and too many sleepless nights.
And then—just before he turned away—Arasha reached out and grabbed his wrist this time.
"Come back to me, Kane."
He nodded, slowly, solemnly. "Always."
And then he was gone—into the flashing circle of the teleportation talisman.
Arasha stared at the space he vanished from, a storm of worry churning in her eyes.
Behind her, Leta entered quietly and offered no words—only a hand on her shoulder.
The tension in the room didn't break.
Because even though Kane had awakened—
So had the darkness that hunted them.
****
The air in the northern garrison had shifted from frenzied urgency to a grim, cold silence.
Makeshift tents lined the cleared square, the wounded tended to in orderly rows, and the charred remains of battle were being swept away by disciplined hands.
Orders moved swiftly down the chain of command, every knight, medic, and squire moving with the precision that had made the Scion Order famous.
And at the center of it all was their commander, Arasha.
Composed and imposing, clad once more in her armor with her black cloak billowing slightly behind her, she stood as if untouched by the chaos that had threatened to consume the northern town.
Her words were clipped but calm, her presence a bastion to the weary and the wounded alike.
She issued commands with swift efficiency—dispatching relief units, overseeing barrier installations, coordinating supply convoys from the merchant allies.
The town's leaders spoke to her with reverence and fear.
She answered every query with clarity, every plea with resolve.
But behind her sharp amber eyes, the storm brewed.
Leta saw it all.
The way Arasha's hands clenched a beat too long after she handed off a document.
The slight tremble in her breath when another messenger brought no news from the capital.
The way her gaze strayed, again and again, toward the sky—toward the direction Kane had gone.
So when Arasha finally walked into the central war tent to review casualty ledgers, Leta followed in without knocking.
"Commander," Leta said, her arms crossed. "You've been on your feet for forty hours straight."
Arasha didn't look up from the reports. "I'll rest once the defensive barriers are fully operational."
"No, you'll rest now," Leta snapped. "Or I swear on the Founder's grave I will drug your tea myself."
Arasha finally looked up. "I don't have time to—"
"You do," Leta cut in, voice like a whip. "You just don't want to. Because if you stop moving, you'll have time to feel everything."
Silence rang sharp as steel between them.
Arasha's gaze narrowed. "This is not the time for sentiment."
"No, this is the time for honesty," Leta said, stepping forward. "You think I don't see it? You think the others don't feel it?"
Her tone lowered, firm and brutal. "You're scared out of your mind for Kane."
A muscle tightened in Arasha's jaw.
Leta pressed on. "Now it's him out there, charging into the unknown. And you're left behind. Just like he was."
Arasha didn't answer. Her hand slowly curled into a fist over the report.
"You've carried the burden of everyone's survival," Leta continued more gently, "but don't pretend that you're not breaking beneath it. And Kane—he believed in you when he thought he wasn't enough. You have to do the same now."
The tension in Arasha's shoulders snapped tight.
She took in a long, slow breath through her nose, holding it, until the tremor beneath her skin stilled.
When she exhaled, her voice was low and tired.
"…He's reckless."
Leta snorted. "No argument there."
"I hate not being able to follow."
"We all do."
A pause.
Arasha finally set down the ledger. Her fingers lingered on the leather cover, then slid away. "…I'll rest."
Leta blinked. "Wait, seriously?"
"But only for an hour," Arasha added, her tone already fading back into command.
"I'll take what I can get," Leta muttered. "Try not to collapse before you reach your room."
Arasha didn't smile. But the sharpness in her movements had softened. Wordlessly, she stepped out of the tent, her cloak brushing the canvas as she passed.
Leta watched her go, sighing heavily.
She muttered under her breath, "One of these days, they'll both admit they love each other, and the world might just fix itself."
****
Smoke curled above the rooftops of the capital, not from destruction but from controlled fires—sanitation, signal flares, and field kitchens hastily set up in the streets.
The rift in the central square was now a sealed, scorched scar upon the earth, the remains of monstrous limbs still being dragged off by cleanup crews.
But the civilians lived. The city stood.
And at the heart of the effort, stood Kane.
With his newly awakened power, he had become a force unlike any the capital had seen—surging through the battlefield with precision, shielding fleeing civilians, cutting through riftspawn before they could overwhelm the guards, and sealing the rift with a surge of ancient magic that cracked the very air.
There had been chaos, but not despair.
He issued rapid orders to remaining defenders, created supply routes on the fly, and even coordinated with the capital's own military officers to stabilize the situation—his clothes were dusted with ash, his cloak torn at the edges, but his focus never wavered. He hadn't slept. He hadn't stopped.
And he hadn't sent a single message.
Not because he forgot Arasha, but because the moment he thought of her, he felt the weight of what it meant for her to wait.
He couldn't give her anything but results.
And then, as he was overseeing the redistribution of emergency supplies to the displaced families, a calm voice from behind disrupted the flow of his orders:
"You've handled this place well, Kane. Almost impressive."
Kane turned sharply, eyes narrowing.
Cassian stood there, regal as ever even in travel-worn attire, his coat open at the collar, a fine scarf pulled loose.
Behind him, carts bearing crates emblazoned with his merchant insignia were already being offloaded—potions, preserved rations, enchanted linens, all being handed to grateful hands.
Kane's voice was dry. "Didn't expect you here."
Cassian offered a faint smile. "I go where I'm needed. It seems you've been quite the spectacle—enough that the capital called me directly."
He paused, his gaze pointed. "Though I wonder if your spectacle was entirely necessary."
Kane's jaw tensed. "Meaning?"
Cassian clasped his hands behind his back. "Rushing headfirst into a rift with half the Royal Guard scrambling behind you? No formal coordination? It left quite the mess for others to handle." He tilted his head. "Commander Arasha, for example."
Kane's hand twitched at his side. "She's capable."
Cassian's eyes glinted. "She is. But that doesn't mean she should always be the one cleaning up after your... spontaneity."
Kane inhaled sharply. His magic simmered under his skin, but he held it in check.
"She believes in me," he said quietly but firmly. "That's enough."
Cassian paused at that, then chuckled softly—a low sound with no real humor.
"That faith of hers... it's a powerful thing." He took a step closer, lowering his voice. "Just don't squander it, Kane. Because I assure you—if you ever break it, I'll be the one standing beside her to pick up the pieces."
Kane met his gaze, calm and steady, a cold fire in his eyes.
"She's not someone to be picked up like shattered porcelain. She's iron. She'll stand on her own—always. And she chose to put her trust in me."
Cassian's smile didn't reach his eyes, but he gave a shallow nod. "We'll see if it stays that way."
As he turned to speak to his men, Kane stood rooted in place, exhaling slowly.
His anger burned like embers—but his resolve blazed hotter.
He didn't have Cassian's network, his resources, or his silver tongue. But Arasha's belief… her quiet, unshakable faith in him—that was worth more than any empire.
****
The early dusk washed the sky in bruised lavender and fading gold when Arasha stood alone on the watchtower balcony, her sharp eyes sweeping across the distant hills like a hawk.
Letters and reports cluttered her desk behind her—each bearing the same mark of urgency, the same growing pattern.
All across the continent, people were awakening.
It wasn't just Kane.
Miners who stopped cave-ins with sheer will.
Farmers who could command roots and vines to protect their villages.
Children who could see moments into the future, saving lives with a single warning cry.
And all of them now targets—of cultists, of nobles with eyes like knives, of fearful neighbors who saw power as danger.
Arasha gripped the balcony rail tightly, her gauntlet creaking faintly.
She had seen what fear of the unknown could do.
She had lived it.
And she would not let those newly gifted walk the path she once did—alone, reviled, or hunted.
She didn't hesitate.
Within the hour, Arasha's sigil comm link flared to life in her chamber.
The tall, poised figure of Valmira Steelhart shimmered into view—long dark hair coiled in noble braids, eyes amused as she sipped from a porcelain cup of tea.
She looked like she'd been waiting.
"Little Flame, dear. What took you so long?"
Arasha blinked. "You knew I'd call?"
Valmira smirked. "Of course I knew. I got ears and eyes everywhere. Now, what has stirred my precious star this time?"
Arasha didn't waste time. "The Awakened. They're appearing across the kingdoms. We need a secure location—training grounds, shelter, somewhere protected from both opportunists and the cultists. They'll be vulnerable. I won't let them become scapegoats."
Valmira's lips curved knowingly. "I thought you might say that."
She stood, setting her cup aside, and moved the mirror-crystal across her chamber until it faced a large map on her wall.
Her slender fingers tapped a forested region just west of the Scion Order's main base.
"Here. A secluded estate surrounded by natural mana wells and old ley lines. I've been building it quietly—my little gift to surprise you. Training fields, enchanted housing, reinforced walls, even a research wing stocked by my own archivists."
She gave Arasha a meaningful look. "I didn't think I'd be unveiling it for this, but I'm glad I started."
Arasha stared at the map, a swell of emotion tightening in her chest.
The burden she carried always felt hers alone.
But then her aunt had been quietly laying foundations for a future Arasha hadn't even envisioned.
"I don't have words," Arasha confessed softly. "Only gratitude."
Valmira leaned back into view and winked. "Then don't speak, little flame. Act. Bring your Awakened here. I'll have the gates open by the time you arrive."
And with that, the sigil dimmed.
Arasha stood there a long moment in the quiet, her fingers still resting over the map's location.
The pain and uncertainty of what was coming hadn't lessened.
But with Valmira's support—and a sanctuary for those who would need it—hope felt just a little more tangible.
Even as the storm continued to gather.
****
Night had long draped the land in velvet when the flicker of candlelight still spilled from Arasha's war chamber, casting tall, warped shadows across the stone walls.
Papers lay spread across the long strategy table, not of battle formations this time—but decrees, proposed statutes, and codices thick with the language of law and protection.
Arasha stood at the table's end, armored still, but with her black cloak discarded and sleeves rolled to her elbows, revealing ink-smudged skin and tired, calloused hands.
Across from her stood Sir Garran, equally worn but steady, his grizzled features lit from below by lantern flame.
"There must be teeth in the enforcement," Garran grumbled as he crossed out a line of weak wording. "If we simply ask nobles not to interfere with the Awakened, they'll take it as a challenge, not a warning."
Arasha nodded. "Then we build a tribunal. An allied circle—three from the Order, three from neutral allied territories, one from the crown. Anyone who dares press or coerce an Awakened will answer to them. Publicly."
Garran gave a low, approving sound and jotted it down. "And recruitment?"
Arasha's eyes flicked to a different document, freshly inked.
"We open paths—not conscription. Only the willing, only those who come to us. But we give them means to live, train, and defend themselves. If they choose to stay under our wing, they'll be trained like any knight or mage under my command. No more being prey."
Garran studied her a long moment. "This is the most ambitious legal network we've proposed since the Order's founding charter. The court won't like it."
Arasha's amber eyes glinted sharply in the low light. "Then they'll learn to respect it."
By dawn, the policies were finalized.
Arasha, ever direct, did not wait for ceremony.
She departed for the capital before midday, with a retinue of senior knights and a sealed letter from Duke Lionel lending his voice in support.
In the Capital, Days Later
The royal court murmured like restless insects beneath the high-arched dome of the Great Assembly Hall.
Nobles dressed in dyed silks, fur cloaks, and gem circlets filled the gallery, their expressions a mix of curiosity and unease.
The presence of awakened commoners among them had already stirred tempers.
And then Arasha entered.
Fully armored, her cloak of black fenrir fur trailing behind her like a shadow of judgment, Arasha took the central dais without bowing to the gathered lords.
Her voice rang clear over the chamber as she laid out the growing phenomenon of the Awakened, the rising threat of cults, and the urgent need to protect and stabilize—not exploit—those who had been given dangerous gifts by fate.
Whispers turned to outrage. Then to consideration. And finally… to silence, as the full weight of her words sank in.
It took a day of negotiations. Another day of council with the crown and its advisors. But the third day ended in victory.
The court approved her proposed policies—most with gritted teeth and careful concessions.
The Tribunal for Awakened Protections would be founded.
Sanctuary laws would be put in place.
And Arasha herself was given full license to recruit, house, and train any Awakened who sought her banner.
It was a win.
But as the grand chamber emptied and nobles filed out with wary glances, Arasha found herself lingering by the tall glass windows of the palace, watching the capital skyline burn gold in the sunset.
Kane wasn't there.
She had hoped—hoped without admitting it—that he might have stayed in the capital.
That maybe, just for once, he would've been there to share in this milestone with her.
But Kane had left the day before on a mission to the southern border, where early signs of a rift had emerged.
No farewell, only a brief report left behind.
Arasha folded the parchment in her hand, fingers tightening just slightly.
Victory felt a little quieter without him.
****
Arasha and her knights rode out of the capital in silence.
The golden glow of victory had not lingered—it had flickered briefly, then passed like a mirage.
Now, with the wind tugging at cloaks and the roads muddied by spring thaw, they pressed toward the outer villages near the capital to observe the outer conditions incognito, their insignias hidden beneath travel gear, their expressions alert.
The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and chimney smoke. Children ran through alleys with patched clothes, farmers hauled cracked carts down rutted roads, and inns brimmed with hushed tension. The villages wore hardship like a second skin.
In a cramped tavern near dusk, they heard it.
"The nobles care for the Awakened now, do they? Bet it's 'cause they're shiny new weapons," grumbled a burly man at the bar, nursing a thin soup. "We lost our whole east field in the last rift—no word, no help, no coin to patch roofs."
"And that so-called Scion Order," spat a woman weaving at a corner table, "too busy guarding the freaks with fire in their veins to help us rebuild. Where's our protection, eh?"
"They say the black-haired one—Arasha—she's the one behind it," said a younger man with a sneer. "Actin' like a saint for the gifted while we rot."
The words struck deeper than any sword.
Arasha, seated in the shadowed back of the room with Sir Garran and Leta beside her, didn't move at first.
But her eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in understanding.
She stood abruptly.
"I'll ride alone from here," she said softly.
"Commander," Garran warned immediately, "You're needed back at base—"
"I am needed," she interrupted gently. "But more urgently here. This discontent—it's a spark in dry fields. If we leave it be, if we let them believe we've forgotten them, it will burn."
"But Commander, it's not your fault the capital reallocated the funds—" Leta started.
"I know that," Arasha said, already pulling on her gear. "But it is my responsibility to stop a wedge from being driven between the people and the Awakened. We cannot afford a divided realm."
She mounted her steed before another word could be uttered and disappeared into the night mist, her cloak fluttering behind her like a whisper.
The Village Square – Next Morning
Arasha stood on a raised platform built hastily from crates and planks. Around her, a growing crowd gathered—common folk hardened by grief, loss, and long-forgotten promises. Murmurs churned like storm winds.
"I come not as a noble," Arasha began, her voice rising clear and unwavering. "Not as a commander. But as one who has buried knights by the dozens, and who remembers the face of every farmer, mason, healer, and merchant we failed to reach in time."
The crowd quieted. Some recognized her now.
"I have heard your anger. And you are right to feel it. You should be angry. I would be angry too if I had lost everything and been given only silence in return."
A woman near the front choked on a sob.
"But I ask you—do not turn that anger upon the Awakened. They did not choose their gifts. They did not choose this burden. And like you, they have suffered—many hunted, feared, left without a home."
Arasha stepped down from the makeshift platform, walking into the crowd, looking them in the eye one by one.
"You all deserve better. Not later. Now."
Her next words carried weight.
"From this day on, a portion of Scion Order resources will go to direct aid and reconstruction in these border towns. The nobles' delays won't stop us from doing what is right. You will be seen. You will be heard."
A small cheer started. Then more.
Not everyone applauded.
Not everyone forgave.
But the crowd shifted, and a breath of hope stirred where bitterness had once taken root.
Later that day, Arasha handed out provisions from her own supplies, directed two carpenters from the Scion Order to help repair a broken grain mill, and even sat by a grieving widow who had lost her son in the last rift surge.
****
The sky was tinged with gold as late afternoon sunlight spilled across the valley.
The village, once quiet with despair, now buzzed with the sounds of life—hammers clinking, children laughing, the crackle of fresh timber being laid.
Arasha stood at the heart of it, a light breeze playing with the hem of her dark cloak, her armor dusted from a long day of fieldwork.
She watched as new beams were lifted into place, walls re-erected, and homes slowly reclaimed from ruin.
But none of this would have been possible in such a short time without the rapid deployment of aid and resources that arrived just after her visit.
Wagons laden with tools, food, tents, and building materials—marked with Cassian's crest.
Arasha stood by a newly rebuilt well when she saw him approaching.
Cassian dismounted his pale grey horse with graceful ease, his usual refined poise undisturbed by the dust of the road.
His long coat flared in the breeze, and his smile was calm, but there was a knowing warmth in his gaze as he approached.
"I'm glad to see the rebuilding is already underway," he said, scanning the bustling village behind her. "It's much easier to support a cause when its leader doesn't wait for permission to do what is right."
Arasha inclined her head, sincere. "Thank you, Cassian. Your support was swift, and your generosity even swifter. I didn't expect reinforcements from you so soon."
Cassian chuckled lightly. "You shouldn't be surprised. You've always spoken of building peace from the foundation, not just from the throne. I simply made sure the foundation didn't crumble while you were trying to hold the ceiling up."
She smiled faintly, moved by his clarity—and his effort.
"I'll admit," she said softly, "I've had little left to offer in return lately. My coffers are stretched thin, my people thinner. But if ever you find yourself in trouble, or at the edge of something dark… I swear to you, Cassian, I'll be there. I give you my word."
Cassian's smile faltered, just slightly, replaced by something deeper—something more human beneath the usual layers of diplomacy and charm.
"Commander Arasha," he said, his voice low and sincere, "Your word means more than gold or banners. And you, standing beside me in a time of need—that is more than enough."
Their eyes met in the quiet that followed. No theatrics, no posturing—just mutual respect, shared burdens, and a quiet alliance that had already weathered much and promised more still.
Cassian stepped closer, his voice quieter now. "You fight for so many. I hope you let someone fight for you, too, when the time comes."
Arasha didn't reply immediately. She looked back at the village—at the laughing children, at the mended homes—and then back to him.
"I'll hold you to that," she finally said.
Cassian gave a light bow, a touch of his old elegance returning. "Always."
As he turned to oversee the remaining supply wagons being unloaded, Arasha stood still for a breath longer, a flicker of something unreadable in her gaze—grateful, but uncertain.
A wind stirred around her.
A storm was always on the horizon—but for now, the village stood.
****
The gates of the Scion Order's stronghold opened with a low groan as Arasha rode through, her cloak fluttering and her armor dulled by road dust and long days under sun and rain.
She sat tall in the saddle, but those closest could see the faint lines of exhaustion under her amber eyes, the stiffness in her movements from too many sleepless nights and relentless work.
And yet, as she entered the courtyard, she was met with warm smiles and quiet, respectful bows from her knights and staff.
Even the usually aloof sentries at the watchtowers tipped their heads in greeting. It wasn't formality—it was genuine.
"Welcome home, Commander."
Arasha inclined her head, the corner of her lips lifting as she dismounted.
Her gaze roamed across the courtyard—the stablehands guiding her horse away gently, medics chatting by the infirmary entrance, knights training in the yards—but all paused for a heartbeat to look at her.
Their Commander had returned.
Sir Garran met her at the foot of the stone steps leading into the main hall. His gruff voice rumbled with something almost like affection.
"Everything is in order, Commander," he said, arms folded over his chest. "All reports have been filed. No new rifts. No emergencies." He looked her over, frowning. "Which means you—finally—have no excuse not to rest."
Arasha gave a soft huff of amusement, her voice hoarse but steady. "Great to know I left a capable second-in-command to handle the base. You sure fit your role well, Sir Garran."
He raised an eyebrow. "And you've turned bone-thin in your stubbornness."
Before she could respond, Leta came bustling out from the hall behind him, her hands on her hips and her expression fiercely unimpressed.
"Bone-thin is an understatement," Leta snapped. "You've lost weight again, Commander. Don't even deny it— if I check your armor tonight and had to tighten the straps by a notch. I'll force feed you."
Arasha sighed. "Leta, I—"
"No excuses. You're eating," Leta said, reaching into a satchel and pulling out a handful of compact, cube-shaped bars wrapped in dark cloth and wax paper. "These are Kane's energy bars. He came up with the recipe while trying to stop you from skipping meals."
Arasha took one with a tired chuckle. "New recipe, huh. He knows the recipe, so did he cook it?"
"He tried. But nope, he can't cook to save his life," Leta said cheerfully, cutting her off. He nearly set the kitchen on fire when he tried. The alchemists had to ban him from the test kitchen."
Sir Garran muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "that poor oven," and Leta burst into laughter.
Arasha bit into one of the bars and raised a brow in surprise. "This is… edible."
Leta grinned. "High praise. Kane would be pleased."
The three of them stood there for a moment, sharing quiet laughter under the sunlit archway of the stronghold, the scent of baked bread wafting from the kitchens and the rhythmic clang of sparring ringing in the distance.
Arasha closed her eyes briefly. It was good to be back.
For now, the world outside could wait.
The warmth of the base still lingered in Arasha's skin as she finally entered her private chamber, the door clicking shut behind her with a soft finality.
The space was modest—only a few personal effects adorned the stone walls, a small vase of preserved lilies by the window, and a polished rack to hold her father's sword.
Her armor rested on the stand in the corner, and her cloak was hung with care.
She had just set down the last of Leta's energy bars on her desk when a soft chime resonated from the enchanted crystal beside her bed—a communication link.
Arasha blinked, then walked over and activated the call.
Kane's face blinked into existence on the softly glowing surface of the crystal mirror—and before she could even breathe out a greeting, he launched into a full verbal onslaught.
"I didn't forget you—I swear—I was going to call earlier, but the western district had a double rift rupture, and then there was that healer camp needing shields, and I had to re-calibrate a ward formation for a church group that kept chanting backwards, and—gods, Arasha, I've been trying to get through everything and I know it sounds like excuses but I swear they're not—"
His normally sharp, reserved tone was replaced by a whirlwind of clumsy urgency. His hair was tousled, and his collar was half-buttoned. He looked nothing like the poised mage known across the kingdom.
"I even made progress with stabilizing a rift shard—first in the capital, they said—and I stopped three noble houses from hoarding awakened potions—and I know I should've called, and—and—"
Arasha folded her arms as she leaned against the side of her bed, watching him with a growing smile.
Her heart swelled with quiet amusement, and something softer, deeper.
He hadn't changed where it mattered. Still a storm when he cared.
Kane was still rambling.
"—and I swear, I made this new variation of the talisman, it's safer, and I even tested it myself—I didn't want to worry you, but it worked!—and I meant to send a report with it but then—"
"Kane," Arasha interrupted gently, her voice warm and rich.
He paused mid-sentence, wide-eyed, as if he had just now remembered he was supposed to breathe.
Arasha's smile deepened, her amber eyes softening.
"I miss you," she said, simply. With all the weight of unsaid things, and all the quiet affection she kept closely guarded from the world.
Kane's mouth opened. Closed.
Then he made a strangled sound somewhere between a cough and a squeak.
"I—uh—I—Arasha—I mean—" he stammered, his ears visibly pink.
She laughed—low, genuine, and so full of warmth that even the cold stone of her chamber seemed to lighten.
Kane eventually recovered enough to cover his face with one hand, groaning. "You can't just say that so suddenly."
"Got it. Like a hug, I shouldn't do it to others only to you. But it's true," she said, her voice playful now. "You've been gone longer than I liked."
Kane slowly lowered his hand, a crooked smile forming despite himself. He looked straight into the comm link, and the storm in his eyes softened.
"I miss you too," he said quietly. "More than I thought I would."
For a long moment, there was only the soft hum of the sigil between them.
Then Arasha whispered, "Come home soon, Kane."
"I will," he replied, with no hesitation this time. "I'll make sure of it."